


The Heda: Birthright

by jackofsometales



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackofsometales/pseuds/jackofsometales
Summary: As Polis City Police Department's favorite sketch artist, Clarke Griffin has heard some wild stories about her city. Nothing fazes her anymore--until she's asked to draw a mysterious figure known only as the Heda. To Clarke's best friends, finding the Heda becomes a game to occupy the long summer nights; when Clarke starts hearing voices no one else can, the Heda may be her only hope for answers.





	The Heda: Birthright

PROLOGUE

Nathan Miller does not like living in Polis City.

It’s big, dirty, and teeming with wannabes and failures. Everyone who comes to Polis City thinks they should be someone, and everyone who comes to Polis City is actually no one. A city like that might at least be interesting to live in, Miller once reasoned, but no. Not a damn thing worth noting ever happens in Polis City. 

People go to work, people go to school, people dream, people give up, people die. He’s practically falling asleep at the bus stop--unsurprisingly, Polis has shit public transportation--when a new tick on the average list occurs to him: 

Even the crime is routine. 

Miller freezes as a pair of black hoodie-ed figures converge on the bus stop, one carefully flashing the gun in his pocket. As a court reporter, Miller has transcribed more mugging hearings than anything else. The people that survive the muggings are the ones who do and say nothing, just hand over their shit and go home. 

“Wallet. Phone. Watch. Now.”

Miller hands over his wallet and phone, pulls up his jacket sleeves to show his bare wrists, and stays silent. 

“Bag.”

He hesitates. The guy with the gun flashes it again.

“Bag. Now.”

“No.”

The word slips out. He can’t take it back. The notebooks in his bag, filled with notes upon notes on his manuscript, are all he has to separate himself from the drudge of Polis. He’s almost not a failure. 

“Now.”

“No.”

The mugger pulls the gun, Miller can’t move, can’t think, can’t comprehend, and the gun is spiraling away and a figure dressed all in black has one mugger on the ground and the other pulls a knife and the figure’s leg flicks out and knife goes flying too and the other mugger tackles the figure to the ground and there’s a crack and the figure gets up and the other mugger doesn’t.

The figure looks at Miller.

His body is still trying to unfreeze, but his mind notices that the figure is a woman. A woman in black with a dark red sash across her torso and two swords strapped to her back. Her hair is long and braided, but it’s her eyes that release him. Her eyes, colorless under the stale streetlight, but vibrant against the black painted mask around her eyes and streaked down her face. 

She nods at him. He nods back.

She disappears, running across the street and into the black of the night.

He smiles.

“Interesting.”


End file.
